


The Intricate Crafting of Shapewear and Fanciful Adornments & Effective Methods of Pest Control

by Darling_Jack



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Corsetry, Fluff, Fuck Lemoyne, Homophobic Language, Shady Belle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Jack/pseuds/Darling_Jack
Summary: Arthur expected cash for his contributions to Algernon's craft; Algernon had different ideas. Arthur finds he doesn't really mind all that much.[TW: Homophobic language]
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	The Intricate Crafting of Shapewear and Fanciful Adornments & Effective Methods of Pest Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flat_goo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flat_goo/gifts).



Arthur had risked his neck in the swamps. He’d spent the past week waist-deep in mud and gators, chasing after fragile flowers deep within the gristly underbelly of the bayou. Granted, Algernon paid more than well enough for his troubles; more than enough to cover the sorely-needed bath and a new set of clothes that weren’t irreparably soaked with the foulest the swamp could offer. 

He’d made a scant attempt at making himself presentable before returning to Algernon’s shop, but he was far from clean. Far from pristine, or decent, or even passable— and yet Algernon had still called his attention before he’d left, asking with his usual bravado one final favor, perhaps more a gift than a favor, perhaps more an experiment than a gift. 

Which is how Arthur ended up admiring his carefully cinched form in Algernon’s mirror. 

He’d crafted a new corset, one he’d yet to test, one that just so happened to fit a man of Arthur’s size. New materials, new boning patterns, a new style of lace he’d come up with on his own. Algernon had urged Arthur to try it, to act as a model, as a test case, to see if his design was functional. It was a handsome, striped thing, black and forest green, carefully crafted and expertly assembled. 

Arthur had whined. He’d complained. He’d grumbled, and grouched, and fidgeted as Algernon pulled and pushed and tightened. 

This wasn’t Arthur’s thing. It had been Hosea’s, years ago before his lungs grew weak. Dutch too, at the height of the gang, aiming to maintain the appearance of a distinguished gentleman amidst the savages of society, though corsets quickly lost their charm when he realized they were perhaps less than suitable for some of the rougher aspects of their lifestyle. 

But Arthur? Never. He was too busy working, too consumed with providing for the gang to ever consider such fanciful things. 

But now, here he stood, gazing at his own form for the first time in years with more curiosity than hatred, more interest than disgust. And perhaps he was sore and exhausted to his bones from the long days and sleepless nights he’d spent in the swamps, or perhaps he had simply grown old enough to care no longer; without another word, Arthur hesitantly thanked Algernon and headed back to Shady Belle. 

If nothing else, Algernon was a master craftsman. Once the foreign stiffness had settled against his skin, Arthur could just about forget it was there.

He almost had, when he drew up to the entry. 

Lenny shifted his firearm, stuck on guard duty once again. The poor kid looked tired, but stood at the ready as always. A cheerful smile spread across his face as Arthur wove through the trees. He studied the man for a second, that smile only brightening, the sight of him warming something in Arthur’s chest. 

“Lookin’ sharp, Arthur! You been keepin' busy?”

“Sure have,” Arthur flashed back a weak grin, “Good to be home.”

“I bet, them swamps is something else,” Lenny tilted his head and shouted into camp, “Hey, Arthur’s back!”

Arthur tipped his hat as he urged his steed onwards, hitching the brute and unloading the various skins and trinkets he’d picked up during his excursions. He hefted a gator skin over his shoulder; Pearson could do something with it, surely. 

He didn’t miss the way folks would stare as they passed, eyeing him with intrigue, and once again Arthur was suddenly very aware of the addition snug around his midsection.

“That new?” Hosea asked as Arthur passed by, sipping his coffee, “Looks good. Coulda given you one of mine, if you wanted. Got an old one around somewhere.”

“Thanks, but just wearin it as a favor for a friend,” he hesitated to refer to Algernon as such, but realistically there was simply no word to describe the man succinctly. He settled on ‘friend’ for now, and hoped he would speak no further on the subject. 

“Can you even breathe in that thing?” Tilly asked, furrowing her brows.

“If Grimshaw catches you, she’ll whip you!” Abigail warned, “Don’t let no one wear them things in camp, since they ain’t wash too well and we don’t got time for prettying up.”

“‘Member when Karen came back in a bustier, and Grimshaw cut it offa her with that carving knife? Threw the whole thing right in the fire!” Tilly joked with a grin, “Lord I figured the both of them were fixin to murder one another just then!”

“Jesus… Thanks for the heads up,” Arthur balked at the idea; he hadn’t considered Grimshaw’s abhorrence for all things impractical. She was on him in a second when he came back in a strange old pig mask he found, he could only imagine how livid she might be to see him cinched as he was.

“You be careful she don’t see you, Arthur!” Abigail added with her usual warm smile as she and Tilly carried about their chores, “She’s already in a right foul mood. Hate to see such a thing used for kindlin’.” 

“Thank you, ladies,” Arthur hummed, offering Hosea a parting nod before retreating to the main house; he could smell the soured water of the swamp still sticking to him; a spare change of clothes, and then back to the city for a nice hot bath. The idea made his joints ache and want. But first, a stop by the ledger; a quick deposit of excess earnings, rounding to nearly two-hundred and fifty dollars, if he had to guess. 

A deep, appreciative whistle at his back. Arthur’s cheeks burned red. 

“Well, hello Arthur! Always thought you’d look good in one of those. Tried to wrestle you into one for years! I see now that I was right,” Dutch hummed, his gaze sticking fast to Arthur’s form. 

“Ah, hush,” Arthur rolled his eyes haughtily, “Don’t you go gettin’ used to it. Just breakin’ it in is all. I ain’t keepin’ it.”

“A shame,” Dutch frowned steadily, “Good work though. Get yourself some rest.”

Arthur grunted in response, ducking into his room to grab his spare clothes, something not yet stained with muck or blood; a difficult task, but he settled on something he liked well enough. He’d have to dump his ruined laundry with the ladies when he returned; hopefully they wouldn’t skin him alive when they saw the state of his shirt. 

He had only barely made it back outside, opting to duck out the back door to avoid Grimshaw’s newest tirade, when a grating cackle split the air. 

“Always fixed you for a faggot, but never figured you the type to strut around just beggin for a lynchin’!” 

Micah stared at him in a strange mixture of amusement and disgust, almost unbelieving. 

Arthur groaned, “Oh, shut the hell up, will ya?”

"Least now we know how you're makin all that cash, huh darlin?" Micah sneered, “Guess we know why you’re Dutch’s favorite.” 

“You shut up ‘fore I make you, you bastard. I ain’t got time for this.”

Micah stepped in Arthur’s path, squaring up despite his smaller stature, “Knew a queer like you once. Nice feller, til I did the world a favor an’ put a hole in that pretty little head of his. Freaks like you ought to-”

A hand on Micah’s shoulder, a fist driven hard into his face. Charles shook his hand loosely, easing away the soreness. Micah was sprawled on the ground, blood oozing from his nose and pooling slightly in the mud. 

"Damn fool, go run your mouth off where the rest of us don't have to listen," Charles spat at him, massaging the soreness from his knuckles. He looked at Arthur, concerned. "You alright?"

“Fine,” Arthur hissed, “Thanks.”

Charles raised his eyebrows slightly, seeming to notice Arthur’s carefully shaped waist for the first time, “That one of Algernon’s?”

“You know him?”

“He does good work, and pays well for rarer finds. I thought Grimshaw didn’t allow things like that around camp, else I woulda picked one up myself.”

“She don’t,” Arthur chuckled, “She sees me in this, she might well have a fit.”

“Hm. Be careful.” 

“Will do,” Arthur offered a half-hearted wave before setting off again, determined to get himself cleaned up before dinner. 

He kept the corset, offering mumbled praise and laudation to Algernon the next time he came around with his arms full of feathers and flowers. Turned out, he kind of liked it. Liked it enough to pick up a second. Though useless in his daily journeys, he certainly didn't mind spending lazy days around camp, cinched and laced, relishing in the feeling of being put together for once. Grimshaw bemoaned it, of course, and was to be avoided on those days. And the second one...well, that was left with Micah, seeing as he so liked Arthur’s.

**Author's Note:**

> And with that, I'm all caught up on requests! Only took a few months, right guys? This one is for my dearest Goo ♡
> 
> A bit different from my usual, but damn if this fic didn't put me to work. And god, is there anything more cathartic than seeing Micah get fuckin decked? 
> 
> Love you! See y'all soon! ♡♡♡


End file.
